


Tied up in all of you

by dreams_for_spring



Series: Tied up in all of you [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, F/M, Fluff, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Tongue-in-cheek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23967400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreams_for_spring/pseuds/dreams_for_spring
Summary: Sansa is leaned over him, one hand on either side of the chair. She has him boxed in, and it’s a strange feeling, to have her upper body hovering only inches above him. He could reach out and grab her waist, trace the curves of her with his fingers instead of his gaze – except that he can’t, he reminds himself, because this is Sansa.--Jon Snow has been living with the Starks since he lost his job, and Sansa is home for the summer from college. Jon is determined not to jeopardize his living situation, but Sansa is making that very difficult.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Tied up in all of you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765732
Comments: 38
Kudos: 130





	Tied up in all of you

Jon Snow is laying down by his best friend’s parent’s pool, the sun hot on his tanned skin. He should consider himself one of the luckiest guys in the world, to have a pool like this to himself, and a roof over his head; with thoughts like the ones he's having running through his mind.

He wants to forget them, pull them from his brain, lest anyone know what he's thinking about his best friend's little sister. But the mind forges connections between things that it shouldn’t, tying them up in synapses like knots on a string, until they are so entwined that we cannot separate them, try as hard as we might.

The worst part of it all is that it is a fantastic thought, so good and so sweet that he feels himself harden each time it replays in his brain, the thin material of his swim trunks tenting ever so slightly.

He groans in embarrassment and rolls over to conceal his shame, his cock blunting up against the plastic of the reclined chair, which only serves to send another jolt of pleasure up through his body at the thought – the terrible, wicked thought that had snuck into his mind two days ago, and has set camp so fervently that it seems liable to stay there forever.

It had been a small, simple thing that had started it all; something no man should ever notice about his best friend’s little sister – but he had noticed it all the same, and now he can’t seem to banish it from his mind.

He’s been staying with Ned and Cat since he lost his job, and even though it cramps his style, it has two distinct advantages: full use of the estate that they own, including the very pool he’s lying by right now, and his best friend Robb’s sister Sansa, who is home from college for the summer.

That shouldn’t be an advantage though. Sansa has always been this annoying younger girl that is just there; but now it’s all tied up in this singular notion of his, that even thinking about her makes him certain that he can smell lemon and sugar in the air – and because he is a terrible person that only makes him harder.

Jon takes a deep, grounding breath and tries to think of something – anything – else. He tries to focus on Robb and what he would say if he knew what was going through Jon’s head. It’s unnatural, unhealthy, wrong. Sansa would never talk to him again if she knew that he’s picturing what those perfect pink lips can do, Ned and Cat would kick him from their house if they found out.

Hell, Cat is already dropping hints that it’s almost time for him to go – the problem is there’s nowhere else to go. His mother died a few years back, his dad’s never even met him, and Robb is shipped out with the military down in the Westerlands. So sadly Ned and Cat are pretty much all he has left in the way of a safety net, and it’s something he desperately needs because without a job he can’t make rent.

So he really needs to get his shit under control, needs to forget what he saw two days ago, needs to forget the way Sansa’s pretty lips had curled round that lemon popsicle, the way her lips had popped off the tip of it, the way she’d licked up and down the shaft of it just like she’d do with his – Jon groans loudly, hips flexing hard into the chair, desperate for any sort of friction.

She was a temptress in a tight white dress with little blue roses painted all up and down it that day. He remembers because he had tried to ignore the smacking of her lips by counting each and every single rose – he hadn’t made it past the ones on her breasts.

And it’s criminal really, for a dress to be so tight that he could practically see her the curve of her nipples through the fabric, for the cut of it to end so high on her thigh that when she sat beside him by the edge of the pool, it had rode up so dangerously high that he swears he caught a glimpse of blue panties underneath.

Or maybe he just hoped to, and it’s another sick connection his brain has made overnight, while he has laid in bed, hard and shamed that he is lusting after a college sophomore – after his best friend’s younger sister. Hell, he grew up around Sansa, and besides he’s about five years too old to be her type, Jon thinks, as he finally manages to tame his cock back down.

He sighs and rolls back over to even out the tan on his chest, skin sticking slightly against the plastic of the chair. It’s silly of him to even think of Sansa anyway. A beautiful girl like her could have any guy she wants – why would she want him?

* * *

Jon must have nodded off, because he wakes to something soft brushing against his face, light as a bird’s feather, soft as a song. His eyes open and he is pleasantly surprised to find auburn hair curtained over him, and the face of Sansa, struck taut with concern.

“Did you fall asleep?” She asks, her breath hitting his face hot and humid, with the scent of lemons and sugar bright on her tongue.

It takes all his strength to stop the tension that is building between his shoulder blades from spiking through his blood and sending his swim trunks to tent again. He swallows hard and tries to focus on anything instead of her.

Sansa is leaned over him, one hand on either side of the chair. She has him boxed in, and it’s a strange feeling, to have her upper body hovering only inches above him. He could reach out and grab her waist, trace the curves of her with his fingers instead of his gaze – except that he can’t, he reminds himself, because this is Sansa.

Her face breaks into a wide smile, perfectly aligned teeth peeking out from behind those pink lips, puffed up from yet another lemon popsicle he knows she just finished. If he didn’t know better, he would say that she is deliberately torturing him, that she knows exactly what she’s doing, and the effect that it has on him.

But no – this is Sansa, he reminds himself one final time, before it becomes a mantra in his head. It plays on repeat, while his fingers itch with the desire to know if her skin really feels as soft as it looks. He thinks it just might.

Jon tries to remember when she had braces, remember when she was an awkward lanky teenager, and told him he was gross. But it only serves to endear herself more to him, because he remembers how mercilessly she was mocked for those braces and for her height, and how he and Robb had had to beat some shitty kid up for the things he’d said to her.

He’d liked that feeling way back then of keeping her safe, notes how even now the memory of it sends this warm, pleasant feeling buzzing through his veins.

“You did, didn’t you?” She says, breaking him from his thoughts with that sing-song voice of hers. “Let me feel if you’re burnt.”

Without warning or permission, her hand skates down his chest, bumping over the ripples of muscle. It takes every bit of willpower he can conjure to stop himself from wrapping his fingers in ribbons of auburn that are practically honey in the bright sun, and dragging those lips down to see if she tastes as good as she smells.

What is she even thinking, touching him like this? Her hands have stopped at his navel, just above the waistband of his shorts, and her fingers are tracing the fine trail of hair down from his navel. He can’t help it now, what happens next is practically automatic. He can feel his cock hardening under the fabric, can feel it stretch and grow taut.

He shouldn’t be looking down at her hands, or up at her bright blue eyes; it’s all too dangerous and he needs this place to stay. Robb would kill him, and Ned would kill him, and if he’s being honest it’s Cat who scares him most, because she has this look about her that makes him certain she knows every terrible thought he’s ever had. He already thinks she saw him watching Sansa last night at dinner, in another dress that’s far too short for those gorgeous long legs of hers.

He’s not sure he can ever face Cat again now, because right now all he can think about is taking her precious older daughter right here on this plastic chair by the pool, and that particular image seems liable to never leave his mind.

“I – I didn’t mean to,” Jon manages to stammer out, after Sansa’s hands have finally left his skin, and his brain has begun to work again. He prays that she doesn’t see the massive erection that he is now sporting, wonders how appalled she’d be by the sight of it.

“That’s okay,” she flashes him another smile, “Why don’t we cool off inside?”

When she stands, Jon is dismayed to see her in yet another short, cotton dress, except this time it’s purple flowers instead of blue, and the neckline plunges so low that he can see the tops of her breasts peeking out from underneath.

Some part of him thinks that she’s trying to kill him, or at least tempt him, and he’s not sure how much restraint he has left before he tries something no matter the cost. He is being held back by a single, frayed string that has begun to twist and tighten under the pressure of it all.

“Uh, sure,” Jon mutters, “just give me a minute to grab my shirt.” And deal with my cock, he thinks, sitting up in hopes that it will help to conceal him.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Sansa replies. “I don’t mind at all.” But the way that she bites at her lip makes him think that maybe she might even like it a bit. That is a tempting thought.

Jon sits and watches her saunter off inside, hips swaying as though in dance, wind catching the hem of her dress and lifting it high enough to almost see her panties. It’s wrong for him to imagine what colour they are, imagine her writhing underneath him – but that doesn’t stop him from doing it all the same.

Five minutes later, Jon has finally tamed his cock and walks back into the house, in the direction of the kitchen. He only means to grab a glass of water and head to his room as quickly as he can, but he sees Sansa there sitting on the counter, sucking on yet another popsicle.

He curses her, curses the inventor of popsicles, and curses himself because he knows now that he will never forget this image of Sansa Stark sitting on a counter, lips tight around her popsicle, slowly guiding it in and out of her mouth, as though she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Do you want a taste?” She asks breathlessly, once she’s popped it from her mouth. “It’s the last one.”

Jon swallows hard and weighs his options. He thinks of what could happen if he takes one more step forward, if Sansa is thinking even just one of the things on his mind. Except this time he is certain that she is, because her eyes are trailing up and down his body the same as he’s doing to her, and she has that same hungry look on her face.

The problem is if he takes that step forward there is no going back, no forgetting what he has seen and thought of for the past 48 hours, because they won’t just be thoughts anymore, but memories – ones he knows he’ll never forget.

Something inside him breaks and he takes one step forward, and another, until he is standing squarely between her thighs. His hands find purchase on the cool marble counter, and he leans in as if to take a lick from the popsicle, but his lips finds hers instead.

Her mouth is cold and sweet, but her tongue is hot, and when he captures it with his he is absolutely lost – to reason, to sense, to anything that exists beyond Sansa Stark.

“Delicious,” Jon murmurs, as he pulls away from the kiss, half-relieved that she hasn’t pulled away, half-exalted at the finality of what he’s done. There’s a certain freedom in doing what shouldn’t be done, in cutting that frayed string and finally giving in. “I’ll have to buy you more.”

Sansa lets out an approving hum, and captures his lips with hers, kissing him with an urgency that he matches. Their tongues dance and learn the shape of each other, in a slow and searching way. It's as though they have all the time in the world, when they both know that they don't. 

His fingers twine into her hair, and it’s as soft and silky as he has imagined, like running a hand over still water.

He spares a second to wonder if kissing Sansa might be the greatest accomplishment of his life, because her body tight against his makes every nerve ending sing, makes him forget for a second what a mistake it surely must be. How long can they keep this up without Ned and Cat noticing?

When they finally pull away this time, Sansa’s chest is heaving and her cheeks are flushed, and she has never looked more beautiful in her life.

“Why have I never tried that before,” Jon chuckles, surprised at how rough his voice sounds, how those bright blue eyes of hers sparkle back at him.

“Mmm, I could say the same,” she teases, biting at her lower lip. “I don’t think I ever even thought of it until last week. We were out at that party and you let me borrow your shirt when someone spilled on mine.”

He remembers that night well, remembers being the oldest guy there, and desperately wishing that Robb were back home or that he were anywhere else. Except it was nice to get out of the house, and pretty nice to spend some time with Sansa. And getting to shove off the guy that had tripped and spilled his beer all over her had been a nice plus too.

She nuzzles in close to the nape of his neck and leaves small nibbling kisses up to his ear, breathing him in as she does. “Ever since then I can’t quite get you out of my mind.”

Her fingers are tracing up underneath his shirt, finding the carved edges of muscle, the slightest scrape of nail soft against his skin – promising something he has never dared dream of with her. He feels a shudder run through his body, and instinctively grinds up against her centre, relishing in the little mewl that escapes her mouth.

What they’ve started now is dangerous; but instead of all the consequences, all he can think is that the mind is a terrible and beautiful thing if it can bring her to him, and him to her just by such small and simple things.

**Author's Note:**

> Ps sorry if you got a double notification of this fic, AO3 didn't post it properly from my drafts and I had to redo it!


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